Harry Potter: After the War
by Moustache Face
Summary: What happened to the characters after the war? In the time between the epilogue?
1. Dean Thomas

**Dean Thomas**

One year later:

"They have reports of all wizards and witches in the Ministry of Magic," said the witch as she and Dean walked across a long and crowded corridor. At least she was walking; Dean was jogging behind her, trying not to crash into anyone.

It had been a year since the Battle of Hogwarts, and he was still waking up to nightmares of running from death eaters and being captured by snatchers and waking up in the dim gloom of the dungeon at Malfoy Manor. Just that day he had woken up from a nightmare of Ted Tonks dying, and waking up he found no comfort in remembering that Ted, his daughter, and his son-in-law were all dead.

He had turned around and picked up the letter from Andromeda Tonks he had received a month earlier and shredded it into pieces. He regretted it immediately, but didn't have a quick way to fix it. After all, his wand had been destroyed in the Battle of Hogwarts, and he was too scared to visit Ollivander for a new wand: Ollivander, who had been in the dreaded dungeon with him. Ollivander, who had been unable to make a wand for him anyways.

He spent the rest of the morning attempting to tape the letter together. His mother had called him downstairs for breakfast but he didn't respond; she was used to it by now.

At noon he received a sort of a shock when a handsome looking owl that he didn't recognize tapped its beak against his window. Maybe the Seamus had gotten a new one? He let the owl in and looked at the letter taped to its leg: a letter from the Ministry.

And here he now was. Kingsley had come down to greet him personally, and said he would have helped Dean if he hadn't been swamped by so much work. Dean fancied he saw a flash Ron's brilliantly red hair, but he wasn't sure. He heard that Ron and Harry both worked at the Ministry now as Aurors. Sure suited them.

He and the witch turned around into an open doorway filled with reporters.

"Sorry about this," said the witch, "Dolores Umbridge – you know her? – she's being tried today. Crimes against Muggleborns."

Dean felt a spinning sensation in his stomach. Dolores Umbridge. Muggleborns. He bowed his head and prayed that the reporters didn't recognize him.

They walked through another open doorway. And another. Down a corridor. Into a locked room. Into another locked room. And then into another room that was filled with stacks and stacks of boxes with parchment and paper.

"Give me your wand," said the witch briskly.

Dean grimaced. "Don't have one, ma'am."

The witch sighed audibly and grabbed his hand. Then with a slashing motion she brought down her wand and sliced his hand open. Dean yelped.

"Bloody hell woman!"

She appeared not to notice him as he tried to staunch the trickle of blood with his shirt sleeve. "110th row, 15th aisle, 20th shelf, second to the left." She led him down down the long, long rows and aisles of boxes, reached wherever the "110th row, 15th aisle" was, and summoned a box from the 20th shelf.

"Couldn't've just said Accio?" mumbled Dean grumpily.

"Doesn't work in long range here," said the witch. The box was filled with parchment and paper from different eras. The witch sifted through them detachedly.

She sniffed at some of the more mysterious looking parchments. "Human skin," she said at one of them and put it down gingerly. She went through about 100 Lydyls before arriving at Lye. Dennis Lye. Written on regular parchment, and overall not very interesting.

Dean took the parchment from her carefully and read it.

Lye, Dennis †

Born: May 13th, 1954

Died: April 2nd, 1980 (killed by death eaters)

Mother: Stratsburg, Barbara (muggle) †

Father: Lye, Brad †

Spouse: Longe, Thelma (muggle)

Children: Thomas, Dean

And that was it.

His father had died in the First Wizarding War.

"Can I keep this?"

Had his father died defending him?

"No." The witch snatched the parchment out of his hand and replaced it into the box. And replaced the box on the 20th shelf. And his father was out of reach again.

Later that day Dean found himself at the Leaky Cauldron. Hannah Abbott was serving as bartender at the front, and let him through the gate to Diagon Alley.

He walked down the streets, now bustling with witches and wizards. He saw the Weasley Wizard Wheezes at the end of the block and the children who were excitedly running through the entrance. He thought he might go in and say hi to George later.

He walked by Flourish and Bott's, the Apothecary, by all the shops he still remembered clearly from his childhood, when he was so terribly excited to go to Hogwarts, and when he thought nothing could go wrong…

And he finally arrived at the place he was looking for. He opened the door and heard a bell tinkle from inside the shop. A familiar face surrounded by shockingly white hair appeared from behind a shelf.

"Dean Thomas, I've been wondering when you would come."

"Hi, yeah. I'd like to purchase a wand."


	2. Molly Weasley

Two years later:

Molly stared at the clock in front of her, the same one that had always been there. The one she looked at every night before bed to see if her children were working or at home. Most nights she would wake up in nightmares, rush down to the clock, and half expect everyone's hands to be at "Mortal Peril." But they were always at home.

Arthur was working late that night, and she knew he wouldn't show until the next hour at least; nevertheless, she felt a sense of nervousness and dizziness, anticipating something to happen to the hand. She expected it to whirl to "Lost" or "Mortal Peril," or maybe even fall to the ground, the way she found Fred's when she returned home from the war. George's hand had stayed at "Lost" for a while afterwards.

Molly felt inexplicably lonely. She was used to a bustling house filled with children or visitors or whatnot. But everyone was busy. Bill and Fleur were raising their first child, Victorie. Charlie was still hunting dragons in Romania, although Bill whispered to her that he had found a dashing fellow by the name of Borrick. Percy was talking to her again, and he, out of all the children, made attempts to visit her in an act of desperate reconciliation, as if he thought that Molly hadn't forgiven him yet. George, of course, was working in his surprisingly successful joke shop. Ron had gotten a respectable position as an Auror, although she had an inkling of a feeling that he quite wanted to join George as an owner of Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes.

And Ginny – her last child to leave. She graduated Hogwarts Head Girl, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and with a plethora of awards she didn't even know existed. Barnaby's Award for Unparalleled Proficiency in One Spell? Placard's Award for Distinguished Female Charm Casters? Ginny had been recruited onto the Holyhead Harpies immediately after she finished school, and had been traveling with them ever since (her hand was the only one which was always at work); Molly hadn't seen her for a year. Secretly, out of all her children, she missed Ginny the most.

And then there was Harry. Truth to be told, she tried hard not to think about Harry too much. Part of her felt as if the war was his fault; it was his fault that he hadn't gotten to Voldemort sooner and Fred had died. She knew this was crazy; he could not have possibly done so. She loved Harry like her own child, but he could not replace the void in her heart that had been torn open by Fred's death. She also could not comprehend why Harry kept Kreacher as a house elf – the loathsome creature that had sided with the death eaters. She wondered most nights if Kreacher had helped the person who had killed Fred. She wondered if anyone had actually killed Fred or if it was just a freak accident. Occasionally anger built up in her heart and she vowed revenge on every death eater in existence.

She stared at the clock for another few minutes before deciding to write a letter to Ginny. The Holyhead Harpies had played a match that morning which they won by a landslide. Ginny apparently had scored 80 points in the game. The next match was scheduled for October 25th, two months away, but Molly assumed that Ginny would want to continue traveling with her team; after all, there were press tours and whatnot she had to attend. There were rumors flying around everywhere that the captain of the Holyhead Harpies was being handed down to Ginny: she couldn't possibly miss the press tours.

She contemplated for a bit and then began writing.

 _Dear Ginny,_

 _How are things? I just saw your game in the Daily Prophet. Congratulations! I'm sure you'll be made captain in no time._

She picked up her pen and found she couldn't write anymore, so she ended the extremely short letter with:

 _Tell me about everything! Visit your mum if you have the chance!_

 _Love,_

 _Molly Weasley_

She stared at the unsatisfactory letter for a bit and then called down Errol, who was at this point extremely old and so erratic that she doubted he would survive the journey to Ginny. Ron had offered to buy her a new owl, but she refused. Errol was simply a constant thing in the household, a reminder of days gone by; and stupidly enough, she was rather attached to the owl – her children might have left her, but Errol was there.

Just a sad thought from a sad, lonely woman.

Errol flew down and almost crashed into the clock. He stuck out a leg with his head dangerously flopping to the side, and Molly feared he might snap in half. He took off in a haphazard way and flew out the open window.

Molly watched him veer right and out of sight.

It was but a few minutes later that Errol crashed back into the house. Molly rushed over. The letter was no longer on his leg.

"Bloody owl. Gone and lost the letter I suppose." She set him on the counter and started smoothing down his feathers when she heard her clock whir. And again. Without looking at it, she ran to the front door and opened it. Arthur was standing in the doorway with a huge smile on his face. Promotion? Probably a new muggle toy – one of those computers or celery phones.

He stepped into the doorway and hugged Molly.

"Look who's home!" he said.


	3. George Weasley

Two years later:

George sat bolt upright in bed. He had had another nightmare, but this time he could hardly convince himself that it hadn't happened.

He had been flying through the air on his broomstick with his twin brother, Fred, over the rolling fields of the burrow. But as they approached their house, they found it on fire, surrounded by masked Death Eaters. However, once they removed their masks, George saw that they weren't Death Eaters, but everyone who had died in the Second Wizarding War. There was Moody and Tonks and Lupin at the front, closely flanked by Sirius Black and the majority of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Why did you deserve to live?" screamed Tonks. And George had tried to protest, looking sideways at Fred, only to see him shoot a flash of green light and George was falling, falling, falling…

He looked around his room. It was the small flat above Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes, the joke shop that he and Fred started. _Fred._ Thinking about the name made him wince. He stared over at the empty corner where Fred's bed used to stand. And at the wall against which Fred's travel trunk used to stand. George shook his head.

A barn owl tapped at his window. George stumbled out of bed and wrenched open his window, took the note from the owl's outstretched leg, and unfurled it. It was a letter from Angelina Johnson, a good-looking girl who had been on the Quidditch team with Fred and George. It read:

 _Dear George,_

 _How are things going? I'll be in Diagon Alley next week if you want to meet up!_

 _Love,  
_ _Angelina_

 _P.S. I'll be excited to see what color your hair is this time!_

Angelina was a nice girl, although George still remembered her rather vicious captaining of the team in his seventh year. And he knew that she had fancied Fred. He supposed that as no one could tell them apart (that is, until he lost an ear) he might be a good replacement.

George wandered towards the drawer that had a mirror balanced precariously on top of it. He looked at himself for a little. His red hair was growing back at the roots, but the majority of it was a bright turquoise color.

He had originally dyed his hair a bright pink color (but as it reminded him of Tonks too painfully, he changed it to purple). The first time his mother saw him, she looked as if she was about to shriek and drop everything she was holding (a bunch of dishes). But George had simply said, "I thought it was him when I saw myself in the mirror," and his mother drew her lips into a tight line and nodded tersely.

Ron, on the other hand, had been completely supportive of his hair the moment he saw it.

"Blimey, George, you look great!" he had grinned widely. Ginny, who had also been present, praised his hair enthusiastically as well. Harry, however, who had been with Ginny, stayed quiet, and George rather suspected that Harry knew more about his decision than George wanted.

Another owl was tapping at the window. This time, it was a tiny, erratically flying owl. Unmistakably Pigwidgeon. George pulled open the window a bit warily and the owl shot in, hooting happily. The bird must have gotten even crazier than when George had seen him last.

It took him 10 minutes to herd Pig in and snatch the letter from his beak, and then the owl swooped haphazardly out of the room. George unfurled the letter and saw Ron's untidy scrawl on the parchment.

 _Dear George,_

 _How's it going? Hermione and I are thinking of visiting Diagon Alley tomorrow with Teddy (he's been left in our possession by Harry who has some Auror things to do). Anyways, I wanted to take him to visit your shop. Hermione disagrees completely, but it's not like Teddy'll remember anything anyways. Are you willing to give a tour?_

 _-Ronald Weasley_

George groaned. Hermione was likely to murder him for "exposing children to all sorts of rude humor." Also, he was sure Ron didn't want to come to visit George just so Teddy could have a laugh: Ron had been complaining for months about how the Auror life was certainly not the life for him, and he had been dropping hints heavily about wanting to work at Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes.

But he didn't want Ron to work with him. He only wanted Fred.

 _At least he had died laughing_ , thought George. _Like a true jokester_. He had asked Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Percy many times about the whereabouts surrounding Fred's death. The former three adamantly claimed they had not seen what happened ("Too much dust," Ron had muttered, and then refused to elaborate), and Percy refused to disclose. Quite selfishly, George thought. After all, Percy had not even talked to Fred for months before his death.

George and Percy had had a falling out during the last Weasley reunion (almost a year ago), which was incredibly large as it encompassed all the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, Fleur, and Percy's new girlfriend Audrey. It happened sometime over desserts, and George had no idea how they arrived at the subject, but suddenly they were talking about Fred's death, which made the entire table exceptionally tense.

Percy had dropped his pompous overtones after Fred's death, but George couldn't help detecting some when Percy declared, "Well, it was a tragedy."

At this, George had exploded into a fit of anger.

"Tragedy, indeed, that seems to mean so much to you," he said sarcastically.

At this, Ginny had interjected: "His death hurt all of us George, it's not just you." The entire table then burst into chaos, with Harry, Hermione, and Fleur sitting awkwardly aside, and Audrey's mouth gaping with confusion. It had ended with George storming out of the house, listening to his mother's tears and Percy's continuing fuming.

Percy had sent several letters after the incident, all of which George burned before reading. His mother had also sent owls, which he read but refused to return. Ginny ignored him completely, at which George could not decide whether to feel relief or disappointment.

His mother's latest letter was sitting on his drawer. It was an invitation to another Weasley dinner (the date had passed a week ago). George was sure that Ginny couldn't have made it, as her Quidditch career was taking off too intensely. Charlie, on the other hand, had found himself a boyfriend (apparently), and Bill and Fleur had just had a baby, Victorie. He had no idea about Ron and Hermione and Percy. George felt a pang of guilt at the thought of his mother anxiously awaiting owls, and then slowly receiving them one by one, each of them saying no.

He knew that Fred's death hadn't just affected him, but he knew that nobody understood how he felt at all. He and Fred had done everything together – literally, everything. The only two times they had been separated were when George had lost his ear and when Fred had, well…

A third owl tapped at his window. This time, it was a snowy owl. George lifted up the window with some exasperation and took the letter dangling from the owl's leg. It rose up gracefully and flew off.

The letter was from Ginny. George stared, surprised.

 _Dear George,_

 _I shouldn't have blown up at you like that at dinner all that time ago. Harry's been telling me to write you a letter for the past few months, so you can thank him for this. I know it's way too late though._

 _Anyways, I stand by what I said. Fred's death hurt all of us. Why do you think mum's always so desperate to see you? By the way, return her owls. And return Percy's owls too._

 _I know it probably hurt you the most, though, I'll admit it. But shutting yourself out from the rest of us isn't the right way to go about this. So return mum's owls. Return Percy's owls. Take Ron as your partner (he's dying to work with you). Also, I've heard Angelina fancies you, so go out with her. Please, live again, George. I hate seeing you like this._

 _Love,  
_ _Ginny Weasley_

George scowled and tore the letter in half. He heard a bell tinkle downstairs and a voice call up to him.

"Mr. Weasley! Are you ready to open up shop?" George didn't respond, but pulled on his robes and hurried downstairs.

George sat drumming his fingers at the counter for a good part of the day, allowing his assistant to perform most of the work. That is, until a short, mousy-haired boy came sprinting down the shop to greet him.

"Mr. George Weasley!" he exclaimed. "I've been looking forward to meeting you for such a long time! I've heard all about you! You and your brother were the ones who made that swamp, right? Flitwick's told us all about it. And filled the entire school with fireworks? And made that huge escape on broomsticks? Even Peeves talks about you all the time! Is that all true?"

George blinked at the boy's beaming face. For the first time the thought of his dead brother wasn't filling him with despair – he could feel a sort of weak warmth diffusing his chest. He grinned slightly.

"Yep. It's all true. I can tell you all the details, if you want to hear."


End file.
